


In This Castle of Yours

by ShiDreamin



Series: Kinktober 2019 [8]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, BDSM Scene, Bath Sex, Biting, Cat Ears, Choking, Costumes, Crying, F/M, Femdom, Licking, Oral Sex, Petplay, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Spanking, Temperature Play, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiDreamin/pseuds/ShiDreamin
Summary: Snowflakes and icy windows, sure, frosty streets and slippery floors, of course, but the picturesque image of a castle, streets caked with perfectly even levels of snow, a gentle breeze drifting snowflakes onto rooftops and balconies, seemed unlikely. Foreign. Impossible.-Byleth and Claude warm up together after a long winter day.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Kinktober 2019 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660927
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	In This Castle of Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



In long tales and whispers about neighboring countries murmured within Almyra, the idea of a frosty winter wonderland in the land of Fodlan was one that Claude personally could never quite wrap his head around. Snowflakes and icy windows, sure, frosty streets and slippery floors, of course, but the picturesque image of a castle, streets caked with perfectly even levels of snow, a gentle breeze drifting snowflakes onto rooftops and balconies, seemed unlikely. Foreign. Impossible.

He was wrong, evidently, and his body pays for it with every shiver that wracks his body. Byleth casts him another amused glance, somehow perfectly content with the chilling winds that invades every bare centimeter of his skin, whether it be the bare exposure of the nape of his neck to his reddened ears, frozen solid. Claude grinds his teeth, unable to slow the chattering of his jaw shivering.

Embarrassment flushes him pink when her amusement flickers into concern for a moment, genuine surprise at his ineptitude apparent. How shameful, to be regarded as such by his beloved, rendered useless just by a few degrees. His eyes wander to the ground, counting brick and cobblestone on their slow journey back to the castle. They should have taken the carriage, probably. He had known from the skies that there was a chance for Fodlan to frost over, but it had been easier to dismiss the probability than actually have to call for their drivers. Now, he has some regrets.

Regrets that quickly flitter away from the sudden warmth that drapes over him, heavy, sagging at his shoulders. Claude’s eyes flicker up to Byleth in surprise, though all she offers is the barest tug of her lips before turning away to speak to the traveling ambassadors who had decided to change the meeting place back to Fodlan’s grand castle. He walks by her side, hands gripping the coat she so lovingly placed around him, hands pinching to pull it closer.

Warm.

By the time they arrive back to castle grounds, their travelers are sufficiently tired. Seteth and Flayn had come to the door to retrieve them, the former scolding them for being careless, the latter laughing at the sight of their king shaking miserably. It isn’t until they are safely ushered inside that Byleth slips her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to hide his face into her shoulder.

“Excuse us. It may be best for my king to take a bath.” Her king. A shiver is pulled from Claude, only partially from the cold still lingering in his body, and he offers a weak nod, shuffling the coat closer to his body. In the past, he may have refused to showcase any weaknesses to representatives of other noble families. But here, now, with Byleth by his side and the knowledge of his friends’ willing to fight on his behalf, it’s a little more tempting to drop his guard and simply freeze in place.

“A bath sounds lovely,” he confesses, coughing out a soft chuckle. Byleth grins down at him, squeezing his shoulders close, leading them back to their chambers.

“For what it’s worth, you did well out there. Though, I told you to dress more warmly,” her scolding is more a taunt than anything, though Claude still ducks his head, tongue instinctively poking out in response. Byleth had mentioned the freezing dip in temperatures, yet Claude had refused to adorn the extra fur, opting instead for his usual robes. They were fine, even for Almyran winter nights, but Claude must admit he had underestimated the Northern current. Regret has long since filled his bones, only minutes after the wind had grown temperamental.

“Why, thank you, your majesty. For an Almyran such as I, I did do a pretty good job.” His self-compliment is brushed off with a pat against his back, Byleth withdrawing her hand to draw the bath. Claude hums, shedding her coat and folding it with care, placing it onto their bed. The small exposures of his skin, a peeking of his wrists, his cheeks, and even a small expanse\where his shirt simply wasn’t tight enough to block pesky gusts, are reddened and sore from the temperature. With every removal of his clothing, Claude finds himself shivering again.

Byleth’s hand against him is a warm comfort that draws a relieved groan.

“You _are_ freezing,” she grins, quirking a brow. Claude grins back at her, knowing his lips are dry from the constant wind. Yet, she presses her significantly warmer hands against his cheeks, drawing a soft hiss, only to kiss at his chapped lips. Claude sighs, shoulders sagging from the pressure of her hands sliding down to rub at them. Sore, tired, already a little pained. Just how she likes him best.

“Go ahead and warm yourself up. I’ll be in after a few moments.” Claude nods, a spark of excitement running down his body. It’s been a long day, sure, but he’s sure whatever Byleth’s thinking would make their night go all the faster. With the negotiations yet to come, he’s sure that any distraction would make for a sleep, and better sleep hopefully leads to less yelling.

The heat of the water is lovely against his prickled skin, though certainly burning at first touch, prompting a series of hisses and grunts as he dips his legs in. Claude wavers, careful to immerse himself in the bath, eyes tracking the steam rising from it. Byleth and him alike enjoy hot baths, especially natural springs, but the relentless hours of cold against his skin has made him sensitive, wary.

Knowing Byleth, she’s probably excited about that fact. Well, honestly, Claude can’t deny his own bubbling mirth over her own, and it’s with that thought that he splashes in entirely, yelping at the heat rushing up his body.

“I said to warm yourself, not drown,” Byleth chides, though her voice is rumbling, laughter evident. Claude grins up at her from under wet bangs, running his hands along his skin, shoulders, shuddering when he hits his face.

“I am warming myself, I’m just doing it by drowning,” he splashes his face with emphasis, only to cough and sputter at the burning temperature. Byleth does laugh this time, sliding the door shut behind her. It isn’t until Claude manages to swallow down gulps of air and smooth his hair back that he notices some of the items she’s begun to lay out on the floor.

“Ears? Wouldn’t those get wet?” And, oh, his tail too. Claude swallows, warmth in his face nothing to do with the water, at the sight of the vial of oil at the side of the tail. Byleth hums, smoothing down the fur of the cat ears, holding them close.

“You already looked like a wet cat, I figured we should complete the look.” She grins, tossing them at Claude’s head. It’s honed reflexes that snaps them out of the air, though his wet hands immediately soak the hand. He offers her his prettiest pout as he slips them onto his head, eyes back to the tail on the floor.

“How mean. I’m no wet cat,” he sighs, swinging his head back dramatically. Byleth snorts, shaking her head, stripping out of her attire. Claude whistles, making a show of averting his eyes when she turns to him. “Oh, goddess, I am still freezing. If only a certain somebody would offer me their warmth?”

“I wonder, should I call Seteth?” Byleth teases, though she finally dips her toes into the bath, shivering just slightly at the difference in temperature. Claude groans, rolling his eyes as his legs draw back to make room.

“Ugh, no thanks. Do we really need to mention Seteth now?” His hands gesture to the tail on the floor. Byleth barks another laugh, significantly sharper, and when she immerses herself fully into the water, eyes on him, he feels distinctly smaller. Barer, even though they are equally nude, as though she’s caged him in. She has, really, sliding an arm along the tub to inch ever closer. Claude swallows.

It’s no surprise when she grabs at his chin, hot water stinging and causing him to hiss. Her kiss is teeth first, biting and tugging at his lips, before her tongue slides in to push him back. Claude relents, letting his head slip back, baring his throat for her fingers to slide around. He finds himself wishing she brought his collar, the shiny leather one skinned from a boar she caught herself, only to have said thoughts cut off by the squeeze of her fingers around his throat. Equally as good, if not better. He shivers.

“Cold?” Her hands loosen, eyes lidded though careful as they trace his face. Claude nods, hands sliding upward to cup her breasts.

“I’m alright. Keep going?” The flash of her incisors makes him tremble, from instinctual fear and giddy excitement alike, and he moans when she forces his head back further to bite along his chin. Claude groans, hands roaming her torso, admiring the muscles rippling under her skin. When her hands squeeze at his throat again, her mouth biting at his ears, he trembles.

“Is my kitty afraid?” Taunting, haunting, driving another shiver down his spine. Her hands squeeze, his whine breathless, air stolen from him with every kiss. His hands grow slack against her, simply crossing at her back for support as the world begins to grow hazy with the steam, lack of air making his mouth gape.

The sudden release of pressure against his neck makes him cough, spit and drool built up in his mouth spilling onto his chin, into the water. His eyes pinch, fingers drawing hazy lines along Byleth’s skin, when two hands grapple with his shoulders, forcing him against the water. Claude’s startled shout is drowned until they release, pulling him against the tub, Byleth a presence behind him.

“Stay.” Byleth’s voice is a harsh whisper against his ears and he whimpers, feeling heat truly flare within him. A glance down reveals, yep, he’s hard, wet with bathwater. Her movement causes cool breeze to tap on his back, causing him to shiver. Still cold. He slides down just a centimeter, then another, letting the warm water climb up his skin.

A hand slaps at his ass and he barks, arms scrambling along the tub, sent forward with the force.

“I said stay.” Byleth must be scowling, for she sends another smack along his other cheek. Claude gasps, biting on his cheek, as she rains another two spanks down upon him. He shivers again, feeling cold creep along his spine after every hit, certain that she wants his cheeks to flush pink against the rest of his freezing skin.

“Cruel woman,” he taunts, yelping when the next hit is against the flesh between his ass and thighs, skinnier, sensitive. It reddens faster than the tops of his ass, where she hits in succession, before digging her nails into his flesh and spreading his cheeks. Claude moans, eyes flickering back, catching on the slow satisfaction dawning on Byleth’s face, no doubt at the pinking of his skin.

“You love it.” Her hands pinch and prod at his ass and Claude shakes when he feels her cold spit against his ass. His legs and elbows are warm still, in the water, but the cold air outside the bath is quickly beginning to get to him. Byleth must realize, as she doesn’t bother with any more spanks, quick to press a finger at his hole.

Claude gasps, legs rocking forward, at the sudden intrusion. Cold, cold, _cold_. His frame shivers when Byleth presses a knuckle in, the seemingly frozen lube a shock against his warm insides. She presses a kiss to the small of his back, finger making slow, waxing retreats and returns until he can relax enough to accommodate.

“Another,” Claude whines, flinching when Byleth does spank him for that, a bite on the flesh of his ass causing him to whimper. “Another, please,” he corrects, the roll of his eye stilled by the squeeze of her finger pressing into him. He moans, shoulders shaking, a slow roll of his hips to better accustom himself to the sensation. Claude sighs, his head drooping, certain that his wet ears have disappeared partially into his hair.

“You’re so tense,” Byleth’s voice is no more than a rumbling laugh against him, sliding up his side until she’s biting at his shoulder blades, drawing a groan. “Is the cold really so bad?”

Yes, yes it is. Claude bites down his whine, lips hurting as his teeth draw blood, Byleth’s fingers scissoring within him. The bathwater splashes over, wetting the tiles, and Claude finds himself distinctly similar, sticky and wet with every kiss pressed against his skin, every crook of her fingers within him. When she slips her fingers fully out, wiping the oil onto his slick skin, he can’t still the needy whine from his lips.

“Byleth,” he wheezes, head dizzy, “nn, m-meoow?” It earns him an amused hum, if anything, and then there’s a pressure at the base of his spine, large, too much, intruding. Claude shakes, hands pawing uselessly for purchase against the bathtub, eyes blank as the base of the plug presses insistently at his ring of muscles. He’s dizzy, hazy, world fading fast as his eyes begin to warm, tears welling.

A hand grasps his hair, pulling, arching his back into a perfect curve just as the tail slips another centimeter in. Claude really is crying, a whimper shaking his frame, when Byleth pulls him to her face. Her eyes are pinched, dangerous, wary, and for a fraction of a minute he thinks she’s going to bite him. She stares at him a moment, just her hand drawing circles along his hole, the plug still against his shaking frame. Byleth is looking for—something, something.

Him. She’s looking for him.

“Meow?” He murmurs, and only then does she relent: kissing, licking, biting at his lips, the plug slipping fully in. Claude jerks, tears splashing onto her face, hands cupping at her waist as he shivers. He’s cold, and warm, sensitive and not, a cloud of haze making every coherent thought dissolve into liquid, slipping through his fingers. Byleth presses her tongue to his cheek, unbearably hot even to his flushed cheeks, and when she breaths he quakes.

“Clean me up, kitten.” Her arms cross onto his chest, and with a simple tug backwards, Claude finds himself spilling onto her frame, gaping, water splashing over onto the tile, effectively wetting any surface. Byleth grins, raising herself halfway out of the tub, spreading herself over the water’s surface. Here, so close to her, he can see how the water clings to her dripping puss, hair matted down, lips spread wide.

Byleth groans as he presses his tongue to her clit, making slow patterns, his hands coming up to finger at her. When his hands are then slapped away, his eyes trail their way up to her face, smirking, fingers burying themselves into his hair and pulling sharply, the cat ears shifting.

“Kittens use their tongue to clean, don’t you know?” Of course. Claude manages a roll of his eyes, wetting his lip. He feels still—at odd, at edge, mind floating barely overhead as he returns to licking at Byleth’s lips, plunging his tongue into her wet cunt. Byleth grunts, fingers tightening, pressing his mouth flat against her, her hair tickling at his cheeks as her hips rotate.

The water feels pleasant against his skin, brought down by Byleth’s thighs tightening around his head, her hands tugging and twisting in his locks. Every rumble of a grunt or hiss from her, every clawing of her nails up against his scalp, is a warm arrow darting through his haze to prod at his dick, standing hard in the water. His hips rotate, the plug of the tail tight and flush inside him, making him rumble a soft moan against her. He places his lips against Byleth’s clit and sucks, hard, and her sharp inhale warms him better than any drawn bath.

“Good kitten,” Byleth breathes. Her hand wanders her breasts, pinching at her own nipples, cupping the expanse of her skin. Claude licks along her thighs, the crease of her skin under her lips, sucking and pulling gently with his teeth before returning to broad licks, in any pattern, any form. His eyes grow lidded, tired, tongue growing weary until Byleth’s hands snap his head downward, harsh, her hips rocking against his as her thighs shake.

Claude licks along her sensitive cunt, trailing along the slick puddle pooling at the base of her ass. His jaw begins to sore, wondering if she’ll keep him like this, in a cooling bath, just licking and worshipping and wanting at the base of her clit. It isn’t until she grasps his chin and jerks him back that he can refocus onto her face, hazy, glossy, aware again that he’s soaked wet with bathwater and her fluids alike.

“Good kitten,” she repeats, and his dick twitches as the praise sinks into him. Her hands bring him up, lazy, nails digging into his skin, drawing blood. Her lips are soft, just a press against his, before she snarls, teeth baring against his lips, cutting, drawing moans and shivers.

“C-cold,” he confesses, hands pinching at her skin, shoulders drawn flush against her breasts. He rests against the crook of her neck, baring the back of his, and her teeth sink into it, no doubt leaving a lasting angry red mark. Then they’re immersed back into the water, cooling now against his skin, and he shivers, mind flickering between Byleth’s hands and lips, the drag of her nails against him, the press of the tail inside, closer, deeper, rocking against the tub.

“Shall I warm my little kitten up?” Byleth’s voice is an echo permeating his ears, hands sliding downward. He thinks, for a moment, that she’s going to ride him, just slip him into her and clench around him, pulling orgasm from him with ease. Claude nods, pressing close against her, only for her to laugh and shift away.

“You’ve never had sex in water before, it’s not as fun as it looks,” even as she speaks, her hands trail down to circle the head of his cock, jerking slightly. Claude groans, the same haze growing stronger, sharper, a heat crawling within his body.

“P-please, haah, By-Byleetthhh,” every drag of her name is a weight on his tongue, made heavier by the press of her breasts along his face. He moans, muffling into her boobs, eyes slipping shut. Tired, he’s so tired, cold and prickling and sensitive with every twist of her hands, every pinch of her fingers, one hand sliding downward to his tail and tugging sharply. Claude groans, neck arching back, eyes wandering upward.

“Does my kitten want to come?” It’s unfair, really, how well her voice purrs still. His arms shake as they cross her shoulders, pulling them impossibly closer, flush, his eyes just peering over her breasts. His face is—it’s red, dizzy, must be, heat wandering to the surface against the cold driving goosebumps along his skin. His hips jerk, rotate, with every movement of her hands.

“Please, _please_ , nn, Byleth, Byl-eeth.” Her fingers release the plug, shoving it harsh against him, before slapping loud and hard against his ass. Claude startles, eyes fluttering wide, open, surprise and sensation gripping him just as Byleth grinds her thumb against the slit of his dick, the warmth within him unbearable.

It’s a relief when he finally cums, sniffling and muffling his gasps in Byleth’s breasts, barely aware of the slackening of his arms around her figure. Her fingers continue their ministrations on his dick, pulling a pool of whines and whimpers from his sagging jaw. His shoulders fall, head well and buried in her tits, trying to work his tongue around words.

She speaks first.

“Still cold?” And he’s—not, actually, now that the dizzy haze is finally beginning to release its hold on his mind. Claude shakes his head, finding it easier to hide in between her breasts than answer, drawing a chuckle from her. Her hands slip up to pat at his head, interlocked with his wet bangs, a press of her lips against his forehead. He feels indulgent, like a stray cat wandering home.

“Can we,” his throat bobs, sore, and he turns his face to better let her appraise his features, “can we stay? Please?” The curve of Byleth’s lips against his skin is surrender enough, and yet, he waits for her arms to slide him further into the water, immersing them to their shoulders, her hands stroking along his back.

“Sure,” she says. “As long as you want.”

They stay until the water cools and the shivering kicks in again, Byleth leaving first to grab their softest towels to pat down his skin. She laughs and coos over his sniffling, cocooning him with blankets and robes and herself, the warmth of her body luring him close, face finding purchase against the crook of her neck. The sky outside is dark, gusts blowing snow insistent at their windows, billowing harsh echoes along the buildings. It must be freezing outside.

Here, swaddled close to Byleth, Claude swallows, his eyes slipping shut.

Warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompts: Licking | Costumes or Masks | Dacryphilia (Crying)
> 
> For the wonderful Sanguia, who this fic is gifted to! She writes the best anything, but especially femdom, so if you're interested in that please check out her super amazing fics and original works :D
> 
> If you enjoyed reading my fics, want to yell about found families, or support me, please check out my twitter [ @Shidreamin ](https://twitter.com/shidreamin/)! I’m more active on there, and you’ll be able to see my zine previews before I post them here!


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